


Hunter on the Bridge

by round_robin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen, Pop Culture, Star Trek - Freeform, Vampires, not a cross over, the enterprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-03 01:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: He drew himself up, looking for a moment like he was actually in Starfleet. “Welcome to the U.S.S. Enterprise.” Sam and Dean said nothing and the Trickster sighed at them. “C’mon! Isn’t this great!”





	Hunter on the Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a crossover. I know, it kind of looks like one, what with the Star Trek tag and the summary, but the Trickster is involved. And we all know what that means. :)
> 
> If anyone finds a typo, just pop it in a comment and it'll be caught and shot. Enjoy!

“Dean. Dean!”

“Huh, what’s going on?” Dean sat straight up and smacked his head in the bunk above him. “Ow—what—where the hell are we?” Last he checked, they were in a motel. And last he remembered, motels didn’t do bunk beds.

Sam grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet. Rubbing his sore head, Dean looked around. The room was bare, almost Spartan. A set of bunks and a small closet was it. But there was something Dean couldn’t put his finger on. It wasn’t actually _Spartan_ , it was more modern. The smooth walls were almost futuristic. Add in the fancy lighting around the floor, the door with no handle, and it was like some Star Trek level design.

“Sam, where the hell are we?”

“Crew barracks,” Sam said.

“Crew barracks? What the f—” Dean’s eyes went wide as he saw what Sam was wearing. Blue uniform with black piping, the unmistakable comm. badge. “Sam, we’re in Star Trek!”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam sighed and picked at his uniform. “It’s not even the right one.”

“Bite your tongue!” Dean snapped. “TNG all the way!”

“Really? But you love Shatner.”

“Deanna Troi, dude.” Dean closed his eyes, remembering the gorgeous curves a teenaged hunter fell in love with when his own world was too harsh. “Deanna Troi for days.”

“C’mon, you’re honestly—no.” Shaking his head, Sam snapped himself out of the argument. They were in deep shit—captured in a dream, a spell, something. This wasn’t normal and they needed to get out. “We need to find a way out of here.”

“Yeah, definitely.” But Dean was too busy exploring his own uniform. He frowned at the gold. “Man, I’m in security?”

“Or engineering.” Either fit. Although, Sam figured tuning up the Impala was probably a lot different than the flagship of the Federation.

His hand flew to his collar. “Hey, how many pips do I have?”

“Uh, three. Two gold, one black.”

Dean smiled to himself and stood up a little straighter. “Lieutenant Commander Winchester, head of security.”

For half a second, Sam wanted to ask about his. Blue meant science, and he understood how he got there. Researching lore, or scientific data, it was the same set of skills. More or less. “No!” He shook himself out of the nostalgic fog again. “We need to figure out what’s going on. If this is a spell—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Breathing deep, Dean shifted back into hunter mode. “First we have to get out of here. Make our way to the bridge.”

“Right, we gotta find a computer terminal.” Sam moved to go through the doors but Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Dean, we need to go.”

A manic grin spread across his brother’s face and he shook his head, pointing to the ceiling. Sam didn’t understand what the hell Dean was trying— “Computer,” Dean said. “What is our current location?”

_Crew quarters, deck ten._

Dean smiled wider, bouncing a little before reining himself back in. “Computer, what’s the quickest way to the bridge?”

_Trubolift 3 at the end of the corridor._

Dean pumped his arm in triumph and headed towards the doors. They swooshed open and he shook his head, grinning like a loon. “Man, I miss this show!”

The front room of the crew quarters was a little nicer than the bare sleeping area. There was a wall screen, a replicator and a few nick-nacky pastime looking things. Before Dean could get caught up in all the futuristic tech, Sam grabbed his shoulder and hauled him out the front door.

Out in the corridor, Sam looked around for turbolift 3. “The computer said it was right at the end of the hall. So which end?”

“Computer,” Dean called. “Show us the way to turbolift 3.”

The wall interface in front of them lit up with a red line heading to the left. Sam went to follow it but it was Dean’s turn to grab him. “Wait a second,” he said. “This is getting weird.”

“Getting? Dean, we hit weird a few road signs back.”

“Right, I know, but...” He looked to the left, down the empty corridor. He looked to the right, down the similarly empty corridor. “Where is everyone?”

Sam did a quick check too, his eyes settling on the red line guiding them to the turbolift. “Everyone who? You didn’t actually expect to see Captain Picard strolling the magical illusion hallways.”

Well, maybe a little. “No, I mean... where’s the crew? The Enterprise is like a battleship, right? A thousand some-odd crew members. So where are they? Why are we the only ones here?”

Sam’s lips pressed together in a tight line. He hadn’t thought about the other crew. Whatever this was, someone went to great lengths to ensure accuracy. Why make a live action play with no live action meat puppets to make the scene complete? Unless... they were just the start of it.

“Computer,” Sam said. “How many life signs on board?”

_Three. Two human, one unknown._

“Unknown? Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

“Computer,” Sam said, “what’s the location of the unknown species?”

_The unknown species is on the bridge._

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “I guess we’re going to the bridge.”

“Yeah, first things first,” Dean said. “Computer, where’s the closest weapons storage?”

_Weapons storage for deck ten is near turbolift 3._

Dean bristled. Suddenly heading to the bridge didn’t seem like such a good idea. If this was a trap, all the red neon arrows were pointing to the bridge with the unknown thing.

“Well, I guess we’re going to the bridge.”

“Yeah.”

They made their way down the corridor and, sure enough, there was turbolift 3, just as promised. A small raised panel in the wall caught Dean’s eye. “Computer, open emergency weapons storage, Lieutenant Commander Dean Winchester, clearance code, uh, Impala 67.”

_Code accepted._

The panel slid open. While Sam expected to see phasers, they both breathed a sigh of relief when the locker opened. A machete, two guns, and a few more supplies from their trunk filled the weapons locker.

“At least something’s going right,” Dean said.

It took them a minute to clear out the locker. Starfleet uniforms weren’t known for their pockets and they had to get creative. Dean frowned as he ripped a hole in the tricorder pouch at his hip and slid the machete in. There was no other way around it, they just had to keep their guns at the ready.

“Hey, how did you know you had a clearance code?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I just... winged it.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam checked the clip on his gun before walking towards the turbolift, “winging it is our best option right now.”

The doors swished open in front of them and they both climbed into the lift. Any small thrill Dean had at hearing the iconic sound of the doors was quickly squashed by the feel of the gun in his hand. There were no guns in Star Trek, not like this. And there was a thing up on the bridge, possibly waiting for them. This wasn’t fun anymore, it was work.

“Bridge,” Sam instructed the turbolift. The doors closed and they began the nearly silent journey upwards.

They came to a stop quicker than they expected and they scrambled to ready their weapons. The doors swished open and... nothing. It was just the bridge. All the consoles and panels, the opps station and helm, it was all normal. Well, as normal as this was.

Dean signaled Sam to follow him and they made their way out of the lift, weapons at the ready, prepared for—

“Hello, boys,” a familiar voice said. The captain’s chair wiggled and a short man popped to his feet, turning and grinning at them. “Pretty great, right?”

Dean managed to roll his eyes without lowering his weapon. “Trickster. Haven’t we had enough of you?”

The Trickster held up one hand, placing the other over his heart. “Now, now. I come in peace. Promise.” He drew himself up, looking for a moment like he was actually in Starfleet. “Welcome to the U.S.S. Enterprise.” Sam and Dean said nothing and the Trickster sighed at them. “C’mon! Isn’t this great!”

Dean had to give it to him. “Yeah, a little, but why are you an admiral? This is the bridge, and admirals don’t fly starships.”

The Trickster smoothed his jacket. “If you must know, I’m on my way to a diplomatic mission. As the flagship of the Federation, the Enterprise is escorting me. But that’s not important. I need your help.”

“Our help?” Sam snapped. “After all you’ve done to us—after kidnapping us and dressing us up in your play—you’re just asking for help?”

The Trickster threw up his hands. “I know, I know. I totally deserve it and we can have a talk about it later, but please? I have a monster problem and you’re the best hunters out there.”

“Oh don’t even try that. You hate us and we hate you, no amount of flattery will change that. Now where the hell are we?” Dean said. Sure, being on the Enterprise was nice for a second, but this uniform was starting to get itchy and unless Counselor Troi walked onto the bridge right now, he was done playing puppets for the Trickster.

The Trickster rolled his eyes, planting his hands on his hips. Maybe it was because he was so short, maybe it was the uniform, but this ancient and mighty god-being suddenly transformed into a pouting child. “We’re in a warehouse in Ohio,” he said.

Good, they were still in the same state as their motel. “Great, now send us back where you got us,” Sam said. Granted, he wasn’t as intimidating as usual either. It had to be the uniforms.

“Didn’t you hear me? I have a monster problem.”

“So kill it yourself. It’s not like you aren’t strong enough,” Sam said.

“Seriously, you really don’t need us,” Dean said. They knew all too well—the Trickster was powerful. He trapped them in a damn time loop, for crying out loud. He could definitely handle one little monster.

“Yeah, here’s the thing—computer, how many life signs on board?”

_Three, two human, one unknown._

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He winked at the ceiling. “See, the computer says we’re the only ones in here, it can’t see the monster, and if the computer can’t see it, I can’t find it. But I know it’s here, it has to be. Look around you, what’s missing?”

“Deanna Troi,” Dean said a little too quickly.

The Trickster nodded. “Valid point, yes, and you’re kind of right. Everyone is missing. My Enterprise is fully staffed at all times—magically of course,” he said before Sam or Dean could raise a fuss. “They’re all just illusions. But some of my illusions were getting attacked. They started checking into medical with decidedly off-script injuries. There’s a monster in here trying to snack on my crew. I had to clear them, for safety.”

“The safety of your illusion people?” Dean said. “Just so we’re clear on that.”

“If you want to find the monster, why don’t you just clear this whole thing,” Sam said. “You can bring the illusion back after you find the thing.” All of this seemed well within the Trickster’s prowers. Why did he have to drag them into it?

For a second, the Trickster dropped the ‘golden god who could squish them’ face and smiled. It wasn’t his usual smirk, more like the smile of a little boy who just got a bike for his birthday. “This isn’t an illusion,” he said. “It’s all _real_!

“I said we were in a warehouse, and we are. The locals think it’s haunted, which made it the perfect place for me to build my Enterprise.” He reached over and knocked on the wall next to the turbolift. It made a definitely wooden sound. “I built it, all of it. The walls are wood and plaster, and all the consoles are light boards under plexi, just like they did it in the series. The turbolifts are real elevators, powered by electricity I wired in. The only things I use my powers for are the computer and the crew.” He leaned against the tactical station, smug smile on his face. “Pretty great, right? I’ve got four floors so far—the bridge, the living area you woke up in, the engine room and medbay. I’m working on Ten Forward, but that’ll take me another summer, I think.”

“Why the hell?” was all Dean could say. Why the hell build your own damn playhouse when you can just magic it up? Why do this at all? Surely a god could think of more hedonistic pleasures to occupy their time. So many questions followed their encounters with the Trickster, and frankly, Sam and Dean were so over it.

“That’s not the point. You know how, when a guy retires, he picks up a project. Building a boat or something, yeah? He doesn’t go out and buy a boat, or get some other schmuck to make it for him. He does it himself.” The Trickster lifted his arms, indicating the whole bridge. “This is my boat.

“C’mon guys,” he very nearly whined. “I’m not trying to trick you here.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Look, this is my honest face.” He placed his hands under his chin in a coquettish gesture. It looked out of place on the thirty-something man he was supposed to be, add in the admiral’s uniform and it was downright unsettling. “I tried to do you guys right in here. I didn’t bring you in as lowly ensigns. I gave you rank! I gave you position!

“Dean!” He sidled up to Dean, brushing a finger over the pips at his neck. Dean squashed the urge to shoot him. “You’re Lieutenant Commander Winchester, Chief of Security. And Sam,” he slid over to him and Sam took a step back, “you’re Lieutenant Commander Winchester, Lead Science Officer.

“So c’mon, take care of my little monster problem. And keep in mind: the longer I’m here by myself, bothering absolutely no one, the less I’m out in the world causing chaos for you two.”

“Ugh, fine,” Dean said. “Jesus Christ, fine. Anything to shut you up.”

He looked at Sam and they silently agreed. The Trickster had a point: shut up in here by himself was better than having him out in the world. “But throw us a bone here. Pockets, a holster, anything.”

“You got it.” The Trickster snapped his fingers and weapons belts appeared on both of their uniforms. The machete was in a proper sheath and Dean’s hands were now free.

“Great, thanks. Now, do you have any idea what we’re hunting?” Sam asked.

“Ah, this is where the computer is actually helpful.” He leaned over and caressed the wall next to them. Sam and Dean tried to avert their eyes. This was starting to get a little too weird for them. “Since the computer can’t detect a life sign, that means—whatever it is—it’s the dead variety of monster. Vampire or ghoul is your best bet. And I have so kindly given you the proper tools. See, I’m really a great guy when I want to be.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “You got a map of this rat trap of yours?” Four floors built inside a warehouse... it wasn’t the worst location for a hunt, but it wasn’t the best either “Actually, no,” he said, heading for the turbolift. “No map, we’re fine. We’ll wing it. Sam, lets go. The quicker we kill this thing, the sooner we’re out of the fun house.”

Sam followed his brother into the turbolift. They checked their weapons before making their way down to the first level.

“Bye, bye boys!” The Trickster called as the lift doors swished closed. “Have fun storming the castle!”

The doors closed and he was gone. They both breathed a sigh of relief. “Still, we could’ve used that map,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head and readied his machete. “One more word out of him and I was going to blow my own brains out.” The more the Trickster talked, the less fun the Enterprise became. It wasn’t some magical wish fulfillment for _them_ , it was _his_ play-place and Dean was so done being a part of it. “It’s one monster. How tough could it be?”

The doors opened on a suddenly creepy corridor. Well, they were about to find out.

The handy labels on the side of the doors told them this was the medical level. Good place to start. If Dean was a hungry monster caught in weird TV land, he’d make for the place where human tissue was definitely stored. Ugh, did that mean the Trickster had a fully functioning medical unit here? Dean really didn’t want to know.

Signaling to Sam, they made their way down the corridor. Sam covered him with the salt gun as Dean entered the medbay, machete at the ready. The Trickster’s assessment of ghoul or vampire left them with the same option: beheading. And Dean really hoped the Trickster wasn’t just fucking with them.

The room was quiet. No hum of engines, no chatter of staff, nothing. The ghost of the Enterprise. They crept through the main treatment area, Sam ducked into a lab and signaled the all clear before they moved on. The specimen coolers were in the back, so any blood or tissue supply would be there too. Prime monster chow.

Sam caught Dean’s eye—he had the same idea. They stood on either side of the door and Sam mouthed, “One, two, three.”

The door swished open and they stormed in. The dimly glowing lights from the cooling units felt more like Alien than Star Trek, and there was their very own chest burster.

One very confused vampire sprang to his feet, baring his fangs. “Finally, something fresh,” he growled, then lunged at Sam.

It was over before Dean even thought about swinging the machete. They’d killed so many vamps, the muscle memory did it for them every time. The head rolled across the floor, coming to a stop next to an empty lab cooler, its supply of blood pilfered before they arrived.

Dean frowned at the dead vamp. “Well, that was...”

“Anticlimactic?” Sam said.

“Yeah. Let’s get the hell out of here. Trickster!” Dean shouted at the ceiling. “We had a deal! Let us—”

~

“—out of here!”

Sam and Dean blinked. They were back in the motel, back in their own clothes, ready to head out after a solved case.

Dean shook himself. “Jesus. He could be a little more gentle.” He smacked at his head to stop the ringing in his ears. “Ugh, that transportation stuff sucks.”

“Yeah, that was worse than Cas.” Sam shook himself and turned to his side of the room. Everything was packed up, just the way they left it before the Trickster grabbed them. “Well, uh, I guess we can leave?”

“Hold on, I’m gonna go check the trunk. Make sure he returned all our stuff.” Dean grabbed the keys and headed out. It was bad enough that bastard messed with them, but if he messed with the Impala...

Dean opened the trunk and found everything where it was supposed to be. The machete was back, so was the salt gun and all their other gear. Satisfied, Dean was about to close the trunk when something caught his eye. It looked like the corner of a picture. He shifted their box of fake badges.

Deanna Troi smiled up at him from a signed photo. It read “For Dean, thank you for saving the Enterprise, love Deanna.”

He took a minute to appreciate the plunging neckline on the nearly sheer robe. Dean would’ve remembered that outfit from the series.

Well, at least the Trickster knew how to show gratitude. He picked up the picture and tucked it in the side of his duffle with his other photos. He’d, uh... look at it later.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Dean would be all about Deanna Troi.


End file.
